On Friday, one of the girls from my block had her birthday and she decided to throw a party. A big one. Two of the floors from my block were invited (each floor has 16 people), along with all of her friends from her course and from her home. They decided that because our kitchen was the biggest (it’s on the ground floor and had an extension last year), that the pre-drinks should be held in it. It was still a squish with nearly 40 people trying to fit into a space made for 16 and, well, you can imagine the mess. They decided to make a huge batch of a drink called the ‘eliminator’ (says it all really, doesn’t it!) which, along with a LOT of alcohol, had about 24 cartons of orange juice in it.
So, the party was good, people had fun, everyone just about made it home in one piece, but then I went into the kitchen on Saturday morning (and by morning, I mean 2pm). Oh, the mess. The floor had a layer of orange on it that was so sticky, when I walked on it I nearly walked right out of my shoes. In fact, every single object was coated in this orange stickiness so I tried not to touch anything. But I was hungry. So I compromised and thought that the toaster would be the only safe bet in the kitchen. While I was making my toast, I discovered my frying pan which had been safely stored away in my cupboard underneath my saucepans and was now resting by the sink. It was clean, thank God, other than a piece of plastic bag which had been melted onto the side of it. So after eating my toast, I washed all my things up (including the frying pan) and played hop-scotch back to my cupboard, trying to avoid the stickiest bits. As there was no space on the side that wasn’t covered in empty bottles, chocolate cake or orange-ness, I had to try and hold everything and dry them at the same time. It was that moment that Rachel phoned me, so I was now standing glued to the floor, balancing a wet frying pan, a wet plate, a wet knife and a tea towel in one hand, and holding my phone to my ear with my two fingers of my other hand to try and avoid it getting too wet. That’s a lot of concentration for someone with a hangover!
As everyone else was hibernating, as they often do on weekends, I managed to sneak back in later and take some photos of the aftermath without anyone seeing me and wondering what I was doing. Brace yourself.
Because there was no space that I trusted to chop vegetables without getting ill, I did something I’d never done before. That’s right. I had a ready meal. Usually if I can’t be bothered/there’s no space to cook, I have tomato soup, but there wasn’t even anywhere clean to sit and I would definitely have spilt it if I’d tried to carry it back to my room, so I settled for vegetarian lasagne.
It was ok for what it was. It was edible and filling. Zero effort to cook and the best bit – I only had my knife and fork to wash up. I think from now on I’ll always keep one or two ready meals in my freezer just in case this happens again, but aren’t you impressed that I’ve lasted this long without having a ready meal?
The kitchen’s still a mess although people have attempted to wash some of the stickiness off the floor – quite a task when you don’t have a mop. It’ll be interesting to see if the cleaners will clean it on Monday and also interesting to see if the 40 people will all contribute to the fine if they don’t. I don’t mind people having parties in my kitchen – in fact, they’re usually really fun, but I just wish people would remember that other people actually have to live in that space afterwards and would either keep it relatively clean, or clear up the mess afterwards. Because I can’t live off ready meals for much longer!